


Far Too Trusting

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Forced to watch gang rape, Gangbang, Kylo Ren Makes OMCs Rape Poe Dameron, Letting Themselves Being Gang Raped To Spare Love Interest from the Same Fate, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Victim and Rapist Were Friends Once, broken trust, hopeless despair, mention of past Poe Dameron/Ben Solo, threat of xeno, tied down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Ren narrows his eyes. "What are you, 2187? Really?""Finn.""2187. Couldn't hack being one of Hux's silly little roaches, kept running away, tried to play hero. Now you're back here. Whatareyou?"After the war, Finn, Poe, and Kylo visit theFinalizer's interrogation chamber again. Kylo is far from magnanimous in victory.





	Far Too Trusting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> [Redacted] provided an accomplished, meaty, and eminently challenging beta. I am enormously grateful.
> 
> Grand Moff Tarkin supplied the title.
> 
> And Rubynye afforded the inspiration. ♥

The end comes abruptly, as swiftly as any victory. The First Order succeeds simultaneously on three fronts. In the melee, the _Finalizer_ shoots down the tiny caravel Poe was flying as distraction from the main Resistance column.

That column lights up the sky; the fires around Poe and Finn on the ground are measly in comparison.

When they're separated, the last thing Poe says to Finn is, "Get away. Whatever you do, keep going and don't look back."

"How'm I supposed to do that?" Finn shouts back, voice rising as the troopers speed up their pace and hustle him faster. "Without my pilot?"

*

Poe has no way of knowing how long he's been aboard. The interrogations run into each other and he can't sleep, not with the light in his face and clanging music on the sound system.

"There's nothing more you can give us," Ren's voice says from the darkness. Poe's still not sure if Ren is even in the room, or simply a broadcast voice like the music. 

Poe swallows and says, "Aww, I'm sure that's not true! I've got a million zingers, I can sing pretty good, even dance a little."

"Your companion, however..."

He has to close his eyes. His chest hurts for reasons that have nothing to do with bruised ribs and floggings. _Finn_.

"Whatever you want from him," Poe says, opening his eyes and sitting up as straight as he can, "I'll do it. Use me instead."

"Interesting. I wonder whether he'd offer the same on your behalf."

*

Fear keeps spiking in Finn, long after he's locked up. This isn't _danger_. He has, by now, faced much more actively scary situations and come through. This is more like dread, something chronic scrabbling at the edges of his thoughts, distracting and confusing him.

He doesn't know what's wrong. It can't simply be that he's back aboard the _Finalizer_ as if nothing had ever changed. As if he'd never escaped.

He _did_ escape. He did it, he got away, he made something of himself. He _did_.

But if that's true, then why is he back here? Why does his mind feel sodden and untrustworthy? Why is he scared of _himself_? How would that even work?

*

"Just like the old days," Poe says as he looks around. This is the same interrogation chamber he visited after capture on Jakku. "You know, Kyle — can I call you Kyle? I feel like we've gotten to the point where we can go informal with each other — we ought to get the band back together, what do you think? One more time! Just for shits and giggles!"

"Supreme Leader," Ren replies. "You will refer to me appropriately."

Poe tips his head, considering it. "Yeah, okay, but..." He squints. "Supreme Leader? _Really?_ Isn't that kinda..."

"What?"

Blinking rapidly, miming surprise at Ren's vehemence, Poe shrugs. "Can't think of the word. Just kind of stupid, that's all."

The trooper on his left strikes him in the kidney, driving him to his knees; the knight on his right backhands him across the face. The cut on one cheek opens again and his black eye pulses.

"Ridiculous, sorry! I meant ridiculous!" Poe manages to shout before Ren flicks his wrist, sending a shock wave through the Force that slams into Poe, knocks him back, then lays him out. The old breaks in his mind, fissures and bruises left the last time he was in here with Ren, start to flicker and pound again. He would shriek, but he won't give Ren the satisfaction. There's no one to hear, anyway.

"You'd like an audience." Ren looms above him, boot on Poe's throat. Slight pressure grinds his windpipe and the tendons in his neck, forcing him to spit and heave for breath.

All Poe can think is, _Great, he got even better at mindreading._

"That can be arranged."

*

"Would you like to take a walk?" Kylo Ren asks. One moment, Finn was sure he was alone. Now, Ren is within touching distance, hair obscuring his face.

Finn nods, and just like that, the cell door dissolves and he steps out into the passage. Ren's robes mutter as he strides away. Finn has to hurry to keep up. When Ren veers abruptly into the interrogation chamber, Finn nearly overshoots and has to pull himself back to follow.

They've got Poe face down in the interrogation chair. It's tipped almost all the way down and all four of his limbs are shackled to the floor. His jersey is twisted, dark with sweat, clinging to him, and his trousers are torn. His bare feet look pale, almost tender.

"Pathetic, isn't he?" Ren says lowly, confidentially, to Finn.

Finn reminds himself to be careful. Dealing with Hux is one thing; Hux works according to a rigid, crystal-clear sort of logic. It's a disgusting logic, but it's still a logic. Ren is different. Nothing makes sense, nothing is predictable beyond the man's anger and pain. That makes him not just unfathomable, but deadly. 

"What do you want to know?" Finn asks. "I don't think I can help you."

"Of course you can." Ren narrows his eyes. "What are you, 2187? Really?"

"Finn."

"2187. Couldn't hack being one of Hux's silly little roaches, kept running away, tried to play hero. Now you're back here. What _are_ you?"

"I don't know," Finn says before he thinks better of it.

"He loves you. Dameron does. You're all he's got left, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Finn says. "I couldn't say."

"I got through it. The burden of his...affection." He traces a gloved finger, then two, down the swell of Finn's cheek. "You can, too."

"Sir," Finn says.

He touches Finn's mouth, lower lip, then taps his chin before brushing all his fingertips against Finn's lips, parting them. He strokes Finn's teeth, presses against the flat of his tongue as if testing for something.

"He's watching, isn't he?" Ren's smile tilts, temporarily transforming his face. "Poor man. Managed to last well beyond his usefulness."

Poe can't take a full breath. His vision wavers, flooded momentarily, and then he hacks up a cough. He wants to be sick, he wants to cry out. He wants Finn.

Finn's face is twisted up; shirtless, he bears the marks of the same kind of beatings Poe has become all too familiar with. Still, he looks handsome, strong, _Finn_ -like, and there's a moment when Poe lets himself hope that this is all about to be over.

"Sorry," Finn mouths. Ren nudges him forward.

"I told you to get away!" Poe tries to smile, but his mouth is too messed up to do that without pain. "Don't you ever listen?"

"About as often as you do," Finn replies.

"Strip him," Ren says. 

Finn glances over his shoulder. "What?"

"Show us," Ren says. "What it's like, when it's just the two of you."

"But —" Finn has one hand free, though his arm is chained up, the other hand locked to the chain behind his back. He shakes his head, tries to clear it.

"Poe —" He starts and stops.

"2187," Ren says, almost too quietly to hear. Finn flinches, but doesn't seem to realize it; another breath, and his expression smooths out into placidity. The sight makes Poe's gut twist and skull throb. Nothing's right, everything is getting worse. "Strip your lover."

"Do it, buddy," Poe says. "Better you than..."

Two troopers move closer. Ren exhales noisily.

"I'm doing it!" Finn says, loud and clear. He fumbles with Poe's jersey, and finally tears it off. The trousers, he has to reach around under Poe and rip open the fasteners, then tug them down his legs. He's folded over Poe, hugging him one-armed, face buried against Poe's spine. He'd whisper more apologies if he could think of the words. All he has is Poe's name, thudding alongside his own pulse. And Ren is watching, all the guards are watching. It's obscene, the way he's reenacting something so familiar and intimate, but _here_ , in front of _them_. 

"It's all right," Poe whispers. "I love you."

Finn nods, hoping that Poe can feel it.

"Come back here," Ren says and Finn finds his body complying. In the middle of the room, Poe is naked, stretched out, ass in the air. Finn's thoughts remain, mostly, his own: abstracted and irrelevant, even as his body obeys.

"What are you doing?" Finn asks.

Ren doesn't answer. Instead, he gestures with two fingers at the small group of troopers and knights. They start peeling off armor and robes. 

A sweet-smelling vapor fills the room. Like the chemical version of someone's attempt to describe ripe fruit, it's not quite right but overpowering all the same.

Ren says, "Who goes first?" 

"I'd like some chit-chat," Poe says. "Maybe some cocktails? Little dancing, little finger food? Then we'll see where the night takes us."

"Droll," Ren says. "Always so _witty_."

"You know me, can't take anything seriously."

"Indeed," Ren replies.

"Actually, you know what? I don't really care," Poe says. He rolls his shoulders and wiggles his ass as if he can possibly get comfortable in this position. "Surprise me."

"No one asked you. 2187?"

Finn keeps his voice as level as possible. "Why don't they throw lots?"

Poe looks at him, but his expression is unreadable.

"By size," Ren tells the assembled men. "Height, ascending. Save the best for last."

Finn's skin prickles and tingles. His tongue feels thick. On the chair, Poe twitches and tries to roll his shoulders. 

"Is that spice I smell? I'm offended," he calls. "Think you need to dose 'em? What, my charms aren't enough for your brutes?"

Ren snaps his fingers. "Be grateful I'm a thoughtful host, Dameron."

"Is that what you are, _Kyle_? Because my ass and scars and longstanding mental trauma say...something else."

Troopers used to call this stuff "sex steam", Finn remembers. Maintaining watch outside officers' quarters or brig cells when it was in use was difficult, to say the least.

"Yes," Ren says lowly, right in Finn's ear. "You do remember."

After they strip, the men are restless, elbowing each other, jacking themselves, muttering. Though they're lined up, that minimal order will not last for long.

"You may begin," Ren tells them.

"You don't have to do this," Finn says. He might be addressing the men, or Ren, or himself. He doesn't know, he just has to speak. "This isn't —"

"You're trying to buy time," Ren says. He cocks his head. "Why is that?"

"No, I'm just —" Finn stops, suddenly and thoroughly hopeless. Just for a second, he believes with everything he is that they're beat and that Ren is the superior warrior. 

"Your mom misses you, Kyle," Poe says into the silence. "Forgot to mention that before, sorry."

The troopers and knights shift from foot to foot. One starts to say something, only to be shoved quiet by the man next to him.

"Yours doesn't," Ren replies. "Couldn't die fast enough to get away from you, could she?" He turns to Finn. "And yours. Do you think she saved all the credits she got for selling you? Or did they all go up her nose that night?"

Finn works his fists tighter, than looser, at his sides.

"Ah," Ren answers himself, "I suppose it doesn't matter. Your women won't be saving you this time."

Poe spits at him, but his aim is fucked from the bruising and swelling on his mouth.

"That desert bitch, I mean," Ren says, "As well as the old witch and whoever that other one was. The mouthy nobody who took a chunk out of Hux, I liked her. Shame..."

"Shame?" Finn asks before he can stop himself. Even if he doesn't make it out of here, he has to believe that Rey will triumph.

"Shut up," Poe says and winces even before Ren backhands him. Through the bright, broad pain, he adds, "Seriously, just shut the fuck up." 

"Sir," Finn tries again. "Please —"

"Finn," Poe says, lifting his head. Before he can say anything else, the shortest Knight of Ren steps in front of him and thrusts into his mouth. 

"Good and wet, nice and wet," the knight's saying, hand in the back of Poe's hair. His prick is short and stubby, sour on Poe's tongue; the cuts on his lips open again, stinging. "Tynto, you next."

He pulls out and is quickly replaced; the first man positions himself behind Poe now, hocking a few times at the crack of his ass. When he pushes inside, the noise that Poe makes is a muffled yowling grunt. Finn feels it in his cock and the base of his spine. He tries to close his eyes and turn away. Fucking body is all traitor, no ethics.

Ren grabs Finn's skull, turning him back to watch. He curls his fingers over the crown of the skull, down Finn's forehead, to pull open his eyes and _force_ the observation.

"Harder," Ren tells the assembled men. "This is a reward, not a chore, is it not?"

They nod and grin, pumping each other up.

Finn's eyes burn. As he watches, three different men take their turns. Poe is arched between his mouth and ass, his ribs heaving, sweat running everywhere. He's trying not to make any noise, but there are helpless gulps and gasps whenever his mouth is free. He sucks for air, he whimpers when the thrusts speed up. His legs can only spread as far as the trousers around his ankles allow — that's Finn's fault, Finn thinks, he should have _known_ , he should have taken better care —.

"Put me in there," Finn says to Ren suddenly. Poe squeals once when a tall, gangly man cockslaps him. The clap of flesh against flesh resounding around the chamber. "Let me take his place."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?" Exhilaration and fear twist up through Finn, make him more reckless. "Let me take it."

"Tell me why," Ren says. "2187."

"Finn. The name's Finn."

Ren snorts with laughter. "He does love you, you know. Believes in you with his whole heart."

Out of the corner of his eye, Finn can see Poe's head bent back, throat exposed, someone's dark prick forcing itself inside. His lips are blanched white with the strain.

"What's that matter to you?" 

"You don't return the feeling," Ren says, making it a statement. 

After a dizzy, sickening moment, Finn manages to say, "I don't know what you're talking about." Of course he loves Poe. He _does_. 

Maybe he doesn't know how to love right. Maybe living as a trooper amputated that part of him. But he tries. Doesn't he try?

"He's a fool," Ren continues. "Always was, always will be." He pulls Finn along with him as he comes closer to Poe. "Isn't that right, Dameron?"

Poe doesn't, can't, reply. The man fucking his ass has both meaty hands gripping his hips. Overlong nails dig into his skin and scratch across older abrasions. The chains shackling Poe to the floor rattle with the speed of assault and rub welts into his ankles and wrist. Come and blood are smeared across Poe's ass-cheeks, like each man has scrawled his designation before departing. Scarlet bruises glow on his skin, overlaying older, darker ones like petals cast into the river by a rainstorm.

"Poe?" Ren's voice is a mocking sing-song. "Poe-boy."

Poe's eyes wheel in their sockets, blind and terrified. His mouth is stuffed, his nostrils flaring. The dick up his ass finishes, pumping him full all over again. The stretch and rip and pressure inside of him ought to be numb by now, but they are as fresh and overwhelming as the first time.

The first time someone fingered Poe's ass, he was nineteen, desperately in love, and Ben Solo kissed like a grown-up and made him come with just two fingers teasing his hole. Called him _Poe-boy_ and let Poe suck him off.

"See?" Ren says to Finn. "He's so happy. Slut can't get enough."

Poe chases that memory — the heat of a Yavin afternoon, the taste of Ben's mouth — but it retreats, grows pale, and then, as Ren laughs, it folds in on itself and burns away. In its place, he has the burn and scrape of bruises and distended hole, torn lips, an eye swelling shut. His bones are sharp inside his skin, rattling wrong, poking anew.

Poe does groan now. Finn is so close, Finn can see every moment of this. This is worse than a nightmare.

"Let me in," Finn says. He clears his throat. "Supreme Leader, please."

"So touching," Ren replies. He taps Finn's shoulder, light as a breeze, yet the Force sends him crashing to his knees. 

This close, just a hand's length from Poe's face, the tracks of tears are bright and jagged amid the straighter routes of blood and sweat. Poe tries to squeeze his eyes shut, force Finn out, but Finn makes a choked noise, deep in his throat. Poe cannot say no to him. He never could, and he especially cannot now. So he looks back at Finn and wheezes.

"Ren," Finn says urgently. Poe's hair is slick with sweat and spunk, plastered down. He's all eyes and skull. "Supreme Leader. Sir. Put me in, I'll do anything —"

The floor shakes slightly, and Finn tears his gaze away. An enormous man, misshapen and fearsomely ugly, shoves a lingerer away.

"What — _who_ is that?" It's so easy to resume thinking like 2187, like someone who belongs here aboard the _Finalizer_. All non-humans are whats, things, monsters, to these people.

"Awful, isn't he?" Ren sounds, if anything, amused. "Shave a Wookiee and they manage look even uglier."

Poe jerks involuntarily at the news, such that the prick in his mouth falls out and spurts all over his chin. "Mother _fucker_ ," that man says, slapping Poe. "You swallow, fucker."

"Little late for that," Poe says weakly, so the man slaps him again, then drags his fingers through the mess and shoves them into Poe's mouth.

"Wookiees possess baculae, of course," Ren says, ignoring the proceedings. "Better known as penis bones. Degenerate, atavistic."

Poe says something, possibly Finn's name, around the man's fat fingers. _Get away_ , Poe thinks as hard and as clearly as he can. _Finn. Please. Save yourself._

Under the lights, the Wookiee's skin is pale, like something from the great depths, and pitted with dark follicles. His dick is the length of Finn's forearm, and the circumference, too. His balls sag heavily, pinkish in the harsh light.

"Kiss him," Ren tells Finn. Finn hesitates and Ren snickers. "Dameron, not that thing."

Finn pushes the current occupant aside and crumples to one knee. "Poe —"

Poe's mouth moves but no sound comes out. When Finn kisses his forehead, Poe moans, long and low and sweet, like they really are alone. For half a moment, they are, wrapped up in each other somewhere out of the way in the _Falcon_ , mouths numb from kissing and laughing.

Ren jerks Finn to his feet. "Fuck his mouth. Look at him like you mean it. Watch him take that monster. _Be with him_."

A hint of something shimmers in Finn's mind. Confusing at first, because he sees himself and Ren. Then he understands that Ren is sharing Poe's perspective with him. His perspective, as well as his feelings — the sharp jab of a broken rib that resists each breath, the throbbing agony of his hole, the taste of come in his dry mouth. He sees himself, the blankness of his own eyes, as his consciousness veers between two points.

Panting, Poe lifts his head. His mouth is swollen and split, his teeth smeared. "Finn, don't listen to him, don't believe anything he —"

"Buddy," Finn says to him, cupping Poe's cheek with his free hand. They gaze at each other, eyes tracking slowly, tenderly. "Better you than me."

Finn's face contorts, his stomach rears and bile fills his mouth. He didn't say that, _Ren made him say that_ , he can't speak but only keen and sob.

"Beautiful," Ren whispers. He shifts Finn closer, hand on Finn's cock, lying slanderous mouth on the nape of Finn's neck. Knee between Finn's thighs, groin riding Finn's ass, he rubs Finn's cockhead all over Poe's face. Finn's achingly hard, wet with need, and he swallows a moan and hope it chokes him. "Here, let him have it. Enjoy yourself. You earned it."

Poe has gone slack. Head down, no fight left. Sweat tastes different than tears; soon, however, all he can taste is Finn.


End file.
